


The Price of Revenge

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [32]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Medical Trauma, Missing Scene, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are always casualties in war. Athelstan just hopes Torstein isn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 2x10. Follows [Shield](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1549889)

In the days since his return to Kattegat, Athelstan had spent more time with Ragnar’s young children than he had with the man himself. This wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, given how much he had missed the little ones. Ubbe and Hvitserk were as delightfully rambunctious as he remembered, little Sigurd was just starting to toddle around, and baby Ivar seemed entirely unaware of his condition, giggling and cooing as Athelstan sang to him. Athelstan also prayed for the infant, asking God to give him strength of will to balance out his physical challenges, but he kept those prayers largely to himself.

His old room had been turned into a storage space while he was away, so initially he found lodging with Torstein, who lived a few houses down from the Great Hall. It was comfortable enough, and he and Torstein got along famously, but it lacked privacy. The night of the fest to welcome Horik’s family, he got little sleep, what with the carnal activities taking place not far from his bed. He overheard one of the women Torstein had taken home suggesting that they invite his roommate along for the ride, and for a second, actually considered the idea. But such things would not have pleased him. He wanted only one person, and that person had had little time for him.

Ragnar didn’t seem emotionally distant—they did have a few nice moments when Ragnar provided him with a pair of axes to replace the weapon and shield he had lost in Wessex—but physically, he had been very hands off. The deep, desperately needed kisses they had shared in the woods before sailing back were the most intimacy they had had since their reunion, and as the days wore on without having any chance for more, Athelstan found himself growing an intense craving. He understood the reasons—when Ragnar wasn’t watching over his brother, he had innumerable meetings with various people, plus the responsibility of hosting the king and his family—but he ached all the same.

Thus, when Ragnar asked him to come to the earl’s quarters after their morning planning meeting, Athelstan jumped at the chance. Even though his head felt as if it had acted as Thor’s anvil, thanks to his excessive consumption of ale the night before, the thought of finally being in close contact again worked better than any herbal remedy to ease his pain.

When he arrived, Ragnar was standing in front of the fire, staring into it as if it might give him inspiration.

“Athelstan,” he said without looking back. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. I have missed being with you.”

Ragnar finally turned. “And I have missed you.” He reached out as Athelstan approached, and took him into a warm embrace. “More than I can express.”

In Ragnar’s strong arms, Athelstan felt all the tension in his body drain away, only to be replaced a moment later by tension in a very specific location. Tilting his head up, he sought Ragnar’s mouth, while sliding a hand down his back and over the curve of his muscular arse.

Ragnar readily accepted the kiss, but he gently moved Athelstan’s hand away.

Athelstan pulled back. “Is something wrong?”

Ragnar smiled sadly. “Yes and no. Believe me, I want to make love to you, but that’s not why I asked you here for now.” He stepped back, and settled on a bench nearby.

Athelstan joined him, though worry still churned his belly.

“I wanted to explain all this before now, but I had not got a chance. Since you’ve been away, much has happened, and it’s going to start to come undone tonight.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you had executed Jarl Borg. Is something still coming of that?”

Ragnar shook his head. “He is well and truly dead and poses us no threat. But a threat still remains, and I have you, in part, to thank for helping me uncover it.”

“Me? How? I—wait.” He recalled the conversation he had had with Rollo in the healers’ room, plus Floki’s cruel insinuation a couple of nights before. Also, some people he had thought were friends—or at least friendly—seemed to be avoiding him for some unknown reason. “People have said that I betrayed you. I didn’t know how that could be.”

“Nor did I. I admit that I was worried when you decided to remain behind in Wessex, but I kept faith that you would remain loyal to me. So when Horik arrived back here, telling us that you had somehow caused Ecbert to attack his camp, I was nearly certain he was lying.”

“I assure you, I didn’t—“

“I know.” Ragnar took his hand, and traced the scar on the palm with a fingertip. “If my heart had not told me, this would have.”

Athelstan trembled at the touch. He suddenly wanted to confess everything that had happened, but then he realized he didn’t have to. The details would come someday, but the understanding was already there in Ragnar’s eyes.

“When I saw this scar as I returned your arm ring to you, I knew at that moment that everything Horik had told me, probably from the moment I met him, was a complete and utter falsehood. He used me to try to remove Jarl Borg from his path, and then used Jarl Borg to try to remove me. When that failed, he forced us into an unwinnable battle back in Wessex. He has been playing all of us like pieces on a game board.” Ragnar snorted a bitter laugh. “But what he does not know is that I have been playing him, too.”

“How so?”

“Ever since he told me to leave Jarl Borg behind—to break our agreement—I have been suspicious of his motives. So I asked Floki, who had built a rapport with him before, to act as my agent, and keep note of any signs of treachery while befriending him.”

“Floki!” Athelstan gaped. “All this time, I’ve been wondering if he was acting strangely—well, more strangely than is usual for him.”

“He has been, yes. And I know some of what he has done has been hard on you. I apologize for that. I did not know he would go so far in trying to convince Horik of his loyalty. Although,” he paused and sighed, “he is about to go even further.”

“Further?” Given how Floki had treated him already, he wondered for a moment what was about to be asked of him.

Ragnar seemed to sense his apprehension. “Don’t worry. It won’t involve you. Not directly.”

“I admit I’m relieved to hear that. What, then?”

“He is going to kill Torstein tonight. Or at least near to it.”

Athelstan felt a ripple of cold shock through his chest. “No!”

“I’m afraid so. He has assured me that the poison he will be using will only cause Torstein some stomach upset and a long, deep sleep, but he did say that there was at least some small risk that things might go poorly. We have discussed this with Torstein, and he is prepared to sacrifice himself for this cause if need be.”

Athelstan’s head recommenced its steady throb, and his meager breakfast threatened to repeat. “I couldn’t bear it, Ragnar. He has been one of my most beloved friends here.”

“I know. I wish there was another way. But Horik actually asked Floki to prove his loyalty by killing someone close to me. Torstein volunteered. He told me he wanted to spare me the grief of possibly losing anyone more dear.” He reached up to stroke Athelstan’s cheek. “Including you.”

Athelstan frowned. “But . . .”

“I told him. A long time ago—before we even sailed to Wessex. He didn’t say anything to you about it because he didn’t want to cause you any worry or embarrassment. But yes, he knows, and he supports the love we have for each other.”

Athelstan swallowed hard. Torstein apparently not only accepted him despite being a foreigner and a Christian, but despite being _ergi_.  The realization of this made the thought of him possibly dying that much more painful. His eyes stung and his mouth began to quiver.

Ragnar stilled the quivering with a gentle kiss. “I’m so sorry.”

As much as he understood Ragnar’s plan, he dearly wished there were another way around this. But Ragnar was a clever man; he would not have chosen such a path if there were other options. Finally, Athelstan sighed, resigned. “I should go to him, though. I should go to Torstein and spend as much time with him as I can just in case.” He smiled up. “Not that I don’t want to spend more time with you.”

“I understand.” Ragnar kissed him again. “If all goes as I hope, we will have many years ahead of us in which to enjoy each other’s company. I can miss you for another day.”

 

Torstein was breathing, but only barely, when they laid him on the table at Elisef’s house.

“Boil some water,” she ordered Athelstan. He immediately complied. “Add to it three of those red flowers, and a handful of round leaves—not those; the ones with the serrated edges. And a shaving of that white root on the table.” She busied herself clearing Torstein’s mouth while her assistant began disrobing him. “It looks like he vomited most of the mushrooms, but I want to be sure that any remaining poison is clear from his body.”

“Of course. Yes.” Athelstan frantically followed her orders, hoping he’d got all the ingredients right.

After a few swallows of the tincture, Torstein vomited twice more, the latter time coming up with just yellow foam. Not long after, he spontaneously cleared his bowels.

“Good!” Elisef declared.

“Good?” Athelstan stared at her, his own stomach turning somewhat as he helped attend to the mess.

“His system is as clean as we will get it.” She looked up at her assistant. “We can dress him again when he’s ready.”

When all was finally tidy again, Torstein almost looked healthy. Color had returned to his face, and his breathing was deep and even.

“Now what?” Athelstan asked after he had cleaned his own hands.

“Now, we wait.” She directed her assistant to notify Ragnar that Torstein was well, and then settled in by her own bed. She picked up a knife and an a square of frayed cloth and began to occupy herself by cutting the fabric into strips for bandages. “You may as well help,” she said, nodding to the bin of rags at her feet. “I have a feeling we’re going to need a lot of these in the next couple of days.”

 

The crowing rooster didn’t wake Athelstan so much as Torstein’s complaining about the noise.  

Scrambling to his feet, and ignoring the pain in his back from spending all night on the floor where he had, exhausted, fallen asleep, he dashed over to his friend’s side. “You’re awake!”

“It would seem so. And I suspect this isn’t Valhalla.” Torstein blinked against the dawn filtering through the cracks in the walls.

“Not unless you Northmen have been completely wrong about what it’s like,” Athelstan teased.

Torstein laughed, and then coughed. Finally, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the table. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“He helped bring you to me,” Elisef nudged Athelstan aside with her hip. She carried a tray full of fruit and a steaming cup of something pungent. “And he’s been here all night, the eager little pup.”

Athelstan moved out of the way, letting her attend to her patient, but he stayed close.

“Well, that’s unexpected, but thank you.” Torstein smiled at him, and then began nibbling at the food as the healer fussed over him in ways only someone of her profession would understand.

Athelstan shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”

Finally, Elisef stepped back. “You’ll live!” she declared. “I’d tell you not to tax yourself for the next day or so, but you’d ignore that anyway. All I ask is that you rid us of the foul creature who forced this.”

“Don’t worry!” he mumbled around a mouthful of berries. “I plan to.”

A wave of joy and relief washed over Athelstan, and he reached up, throwing his arms around his friend. Torstein laughed at the exuberance, but returned the embrace, and added a gentle kiss to the top of Athelstan’s head.

“I’m glad you were with me,” he said, “but you needn’t have worried. I have survived many a battle, and now I have survived this. If Valhalla wants me, the gods are obviously going to have to try much harder.”

The door swung open, and Elisef’s assistant came in, bearing a blanket in which was wrapped weapons and armor. “These are yours.” She nodded at Torstein, depositing them on the floor nearby. She turned to Athelstan. “Ragnar said he wants to see you. He said you should meet him at ‘the place on the hill.’ He said you’d know what he meant.”

A flutter ran through Athelstan’s limbs and he shivered. The place in question was the pleasant grove near the waterfall, where first he had allowed Ragnar to take his body in full, and where they had had many a pleasant afternoon’s tryst in the years since. “I do!” He couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice.

Torstein noticed, and delivered a playful punch to Athelstan’s arm. “Go,” he ordered. “We’ll meet again this evening, when we take our revenge.”

“Indeed.” Athelstan grinned big, and after a quick squeeze to Torstein’s hand, turned to leave. “Honestly, what I most look forward to,” he called back as he reached the door, “is the look on Horik’s face when he sees you again.” 


End file.
